Lavender
by dragonfly42pf
Summary: Another alternative ending and follow-up to Season Two, Episode 20: Walter clears his throat. "I umm…I have, I made, umm…some lavender oil that is speculated to have some qualities that might remedy the pain you are experiencing." He shuffles his feet. "It's in the loft, and I can bring it down for you, if that's something you'd like to try."
**Lavender Oil**

 **Disclaimers:** **Nope, don't own anything about Scorpion**

 **If you haven't watched Season Two, Episode 20 "Djibouti Call" then there are some spoilers ahead.**

 **And in this story, Toby playfully mocks Tim's patriotism and heroics. Please know I have nothing but gratitude and pride for the US Military and for any service man or woman nobly serving his or her country. Truly.**

 **Author's Notes:** **Ok, so I can't get the sight of Tim's hands on Paige (even though his character seems really likeable) and the hurt look on Walter's face out of my mind! So in this one-shot – it NEVER HAPPENED! Toby checked out Paige's injury and then everyone left for the night. Cabe may still have planted a seed of jealousy for Walter though, because, let's face it – he needs some incentive to ACT! This story is set the after 2X20.**

 **Scorpionfanatic2001** **posted a similar story on 3/27/16. And it is great! If you haven't checked it out, please do so. I have been marinating on this for a few days and hope it's ok that I am posting a similar story!**

 **I have also never used present tense to write a story…it just started out that way…not sure if I like it, but thought I'd stick to it to try it out….? I am not sure about this….**

 **And finally, on a personal note: I have an herb garden and my great grandmother was the town apothecary back in the day. It is one of my cherished bits of family history. I knew lavender smelled lovely and had healing elements. I knew the root of the word was likely to mean "wash" from high school Spanish and an odd fixation I have with Latin. (And don't Walter and Paige need a "clean" start?) But when I looked up natural remedies to treat a contusion (other than the honey, butter and salt that stupid Tim put together…I know, give him a chance, right?** ** _NO!_** **) and Lavender Oil popped up, my mind started to spin a story of how things shoulda, woulda, coulda gone…cause Paige and Lavender – are you with me? So here goes…the next morning.**

-oooo-

Walter watches her as she moves gingerly through the garage, still exhibiting her natural grace as she goes about her morning routines. She settles for giving Ralph a playful pat on the head in lieu of the hug he usually tries to squirm away from as Mrs. Goldberg honks the horn signaling his pick-up. Although Paige is clearly trying to maintain the slight smile that her lips often display, he notes her reactions to the aftermath of yesterday's frightfully successful mission.

Pours coffee – no markers of pain as dominant hand pours from the pot, but winces when right hand grabs mug to carry it to her desk.

Checks email – right hand moves to rub right shoulder, abruptly pulling back as eyes squeeze shut.

Signs off on yesterday's case summaries from team (well, most of them) – left hand grips pen while right arm extends to grab paperwork. Sharp inhalation. Drops pen and grips edge of desk with both hands while lowering head.

Reattempts to sign off – raises head with a small smile on face and wheels chair to side of desk where paperwork is located. Removes papers with left hand. Right hand/arm/shoulder are now not in use as signs off on paperwork.

Completes paperwork – leans back against chair and leaps up immediately and seems to swallow a yelp as a tear rolls down her cheek.

He can bare it no longer. He is next to her in an instant. "Paige?" he says, significantly more quietly than the "PAIGE!" he'd bellowed in the truck when he realized she'd been shot and fervently hoped Tim's jacket had absorbed the brunt of the gunshot. His brain had calculated the trajectory of the shot, how it would be affected by their momentum, and the ratio of skin versus coat that was scantily flung around her shoulders, but even his trusty reliance on physics couldn't keep panic from almost consuming him. He'd rallied quickly, after all they were still being pursued at that point and Tim had triage field training, so she was in good hands...not that he cared much for those hands.

She quickly wipes the stray tear away and straightens. "I'm fine, Walter." She sniffs. "How are you this morning?" she asks, always determined to ingrain a formal greeting with the geniuses.

"Fine." Walter hates his one word response and shoves his hands in his pockets instead of allowing them to hover around her as if she might collapse at a given moment. He takes in her appearance, rather than her actions for a moment. She's in dark grey, wearing an oversized soft cotton jersey knit short sleeve top, not tucked in, and grey slacks. It is more casual than her usual semi-business attire, and he deduces she has chosen the top for its comfort against her contusion. He hardly blames her, though he wonders why the tank top she wore the previous day wouldn't offer her greater comfort, with no weight on the wound. Remembering how adamant he'd been when he was hospitalized the summer before, refusing to allow his teammates to see him at less than full capacity, he realizes she is intentionally covering the bruise.

He shuffles nervously on his feet for a moment, unsure of whether he should press her for more information, or leave her alone. He attempts to channel empathy….one of his admitted deficiencies, and deduces that he would prefer to be by himself in this situation. After drawing that conclusion, he is confused by the fact that he would still prefer to stay with her. Hell, he'd never leave her out of his sight again, if it were up to him, to be honest.

Paige attempts to go about her business, maintaing a ramrod straight posture in her chair. "I received your case summary. Thank you." She pretends to busy herself with something on the computer, aimlessly moving the mouse around her desk with her left hand. "I'm still waiting on Toby's, so I think I'll just send him a quick – "

"No need!" Toby catapults from the depths of the garage with pages in hand still fresh from the printer. "I just need your lovely John Hancock and you can scan and send them off to the wizard, or whomever it is we are answering to these days." He places the paper on her desk and wedges himself between Paige and Walter, forcing Walter to step back several inches. Toby lightly places his hands on the back of Paige's chair and leans down. "How are you feeling this morning, Ms. Dineen?"

Paige looks down at the reports in front of her and puffs out a held breath. "Fine, Toby. Thank you for your concern."

Toby kneels beside her. "Want me to have a look?" he asks, referring to her bruised shoulder. She snaps her head right to look at him, braced for a smartass follow-up, and winces in pain again. Seeing the startled reactions from Toby and Walter who had jumped several inches and had hands extended as if they were going to magically heal her, she moves to put her head in her hands. More pain. She lowers her arms. More pain. Every action she attempts with the right side of her body seems to be directly affecting her bruised shoulder. The whole right side of her from shoulder to hip is teetering from aching to pulsing and occasionally burning pain. Another renegade tear falls.

"Paige," Toby slowly leans down to her again as if she is a wounded animal. She grinds her teeth. "I'm fine," she insists.

"Paige, it's possible you could have sustained nerve damage. Maybe we should go to the hospital-"

"Toby," she cuts him off with her left palm spread wide in front of his face to emphasize the point. "The injury is new. You told me last night that the first 24 hours are likely the worst, but you didn't think I had any reason to think this was more than a bruised muscle. Yes, I am experiencing neck and back pain, but I think that's expected and I would prefer not to go to the hospital at this point. I am waiting on the aspirin I took earlier to kick in, and if," she purses her lips before continuing, "by this evening, I feel decidedly worse, then I will hear you out, ok? I appreciate the concern, but unless you have any other home remedies for me to try at this point, other than the ice I've been applying every 15 minutes as often as I can tolerate, then I just need you to let me do my work and let me heal. I'm a big girl." She pats his arm for reassurance. "Thank you though for caring about me." She manages a smile.

Walter clears his throat in the background. Paige had almost, forgotten he was still there.

"I-if, you're open to an herbal remedy, I may have something that could help with the healing process," he almost mutters while staring at his shoes. He is embarrassed to even offer such a thing. Doctors, science, medicine are the best courses of action when it came to physical ailments. But Paige has changed many things about him since they'd met. His research now includes things that interest her as well. While he hasn't found much use for researching her favorite artists or musicians, he had read quite a bit on her favorite scent – lavender.

He'd spent quite a few hours the previous night researching and making lavender oil. Lavender and other tea tree oils have been proven to speed up the healing process and promote relaxation, even reduce pain. While he would have preferred to conduct his own tests to prove these internet stated "facts," he was drawn to the idea of making her a salve that might benefit her in addition to making her happy. Paige loves lavender. Paige always smells like lavender. And it had become Walter's new favorite scent too, a fact Toby never ceases teasing him about.

Walter had spent last evening visiting a local greenhouse to procure fresh lavender. They were actually closed so he'd helped himself. Greenhouses were not hard to break in to, but he'd left behind enough cash to cover his "purchase." He'd returned to the garage to create a dehydrator that would speed up the drying process without damaging the plant. He had also purchased several oils; completely legally, and then attempted to determine the right kind of oil- almond, olive, safflower, that would not overpower the floral scent. This he had little patience for, and wound up choosing the safflower oil somewhat haphazardly. He spent the next several hours of the early morning heating the oil carefully, keeping it at a steady temperature between 110 and 120 degrees. He then had to strain the oil and wait for it to cool, at which point he'd dozed for maybe 90 minutes (lavender promotes relaxation and sleep as well) before carefully pouring it in a container and heading up to the loft for hopefully a few more hours of sleep at 4am. He had slept soundly. He had drifted off thinking of Paige, which he grudgingly admitted, also relaxed him. (When she wasn't directly in front of him. Then, lavender scent notwithstanding, he was at rapt attention, or stuttering, or sweating profusely...)

Now that he is faced with offering her the remedy that he would be damned if he'd admit to spending over 6 hours researching and concocting the night before or, actually a few hours ago, he finds himself feeling foolish. Toby was right, they should go to the hospital now. Surely she could see the logic in that over some silly, herba-

"Really, Walter?" Paige stands with wide eyes looking curious, and Toby, with wide suggestive eyes, takes a few slow and exaggerated steps back, head darting back and forth between the two of them. "I'm open to anything that might help," she says and smiles at him, waiting for a response.

Waiting.

And waiting.

Walter can't quite make himself confess to making the oil himself. Not with Toby standing there practically salivating over this would-be conversation in the background. He tries to create a circumstance in which he would just happen to have some on hand, but outside of telling her he had it at the garage to combat the stench of mouse urine while he conducted medical research on Cabe Jr, he can't cultivate a plausible explanation. And somehow the mouse urine scenario seemed as though it could end badly. Even a guy with low EQ could figure that one out.

Toby, finally unable to contain himself, leaps to the resc- well, leaps in. "Walter, if I may intervene for a moment, some home remedies can do a lot more harm than good if the patient is not under a physician's care. And since our liaison allowed me to tend to her contusion once we arrived home yesterday, that technically makes her my patient."

Paige begins to interrupt, "Toby, I don't see how-" she starts to gesture toward Walter with her right hand and then quickly retrieves it as she experiences a sharp jab in her shoulder blade.

Toby rushes over to her as Walter curses himself for his reticence. "You. Sit. Here. Now," Toby insists, settling a suddenly willing Paige into her chair. He moves her coffee closer to her left side so she won't have to reach. "Don't move, ok? Other than little sips with your left hand, no movement for two minutes." Paige rolls her eyes and lightly nods.

Toby, backs away, still watching her and calls her out. "You just nodded. Nodding is moving. Be still. I'll be right back." He practically drags Walter to the kitchen where he continues:

"Well? What's the plan? I'm already impressed that you're putting the moves on her! Can I just say, 'FINALLY!' But what's with the clammin' up? Now is the time to lay on the charm!"

Toby stops his bantering and pauses. "Oh wait, you don't have any charm." He presents a new mock 'thinking' pose. "Now is the time to assuage her fears and impress her with your vast medical knowledge that stems from years of schooling at Harvard-" He dramatically pauses himself again. "Oh wait, that's me." Toby rubs his hands together, clearly enjoying himself and clearly only just getting started with his shenanigans.

Walter stops him. "Look. It's just some lavender oil, ok? I read that it has medicinal value and though I didn't have time to test the validity of that homeopathic value, I thought-"

"You thought lavender smells pretty, like Paige and she might think you're the sweetest guy in the world?!" Toby asks, batting his eyelashes mockingly the whole time.

Walter turns to walk away, but of course Toby is an annoying step ahead of him, blocking his path. "This is because of Tim, right? Am I right?" Toby slaps his arm. "Of course I am."

To Walter's frustration, Toby drags a kitchen chair out from the table and sits Walter down, hands pressing on his shoulders. "They've already paired up together for espionage where he _clearly_ was flirting with her and not just for the sake of the case, _gimme a break_ ," Toby talks right over Walter despite his attempts to deny the shrink's suggestions. "We've already established he's a good looking SOB, loves his country, and probably apple pie. He tried to protect her from being shot by throwing his own proverbial cloak of chivalry over her, he slipped in the story where he carried one of his lifeless brethren four miles while under enemy fire - He probably works with lepers and reads to blind abandoned puppies for God's sake!"

Walter attempts to tune Toby out but finds his brow furrowing and his face drawn into a full-blown pout by the time the psychiatrist is finished.

"Walter, what else are you waiting for?" Toby presses. "A knight in shining armor to whisk her away? 'The Bachelor,' a shiny new Drew?!"

Walter grimaces further.

"Go and give her the remedy I'm guessing you spent all night concocting, based on the darker than usual circles under your eyes and that lavender stench I could smell on you from across the room!" Toby slaps him on the shoulder, ushering him back out to Paige, before stating, "and for this case, I'm on call, so let me know if you need more of my medical expertise!"

Walter marches back out to Paige's office space. She is sitting still, as directed, but looking at him expectantly.

He clears his throat again. "I umm…I have, I made, umm…some lavender oil that is speculated to have some qualities that might remedy the pain you are experiencing." He shuffles his feet. "It's in the loft, and I can bring it down for you, if that's something you'd like to try."

Paige wonders for a moment. "You…you _made_ it?" Walter simply nods. "And you know lavender is my favorite scent?" She carefully stands now, and steps closer to him.

His eyes dart at hers for a moment. "I, uh..." he tugs at his collar. "I may have heard you mention that," he states nervously.

Paige quickly evaluates the situation. She is for certain, vastly physically uncomfortable due to her injury, but at the same time emotionally (and physically, in a very different kind of way) intrigued at this turn of events and wants to see just where they might go.

She takes another step toward him and speaks in a hushed tone so their conversation is private, "I um…I can't quite reach the area…I mean, it's just below my shoulder blade, and until I wind up contorting myself to reach it, it hurts even more." She purposely looks up at him with big doe eyes and watches him gulp. "Would you rub it on for me?" her gaze falters for a moment, afraid she is asking him to do something he isn't ready to do. She braces herself for the impending rejection.

"I-I can do that," Walter stutters. He eyes her pullover and realizes she will have to take off her shirt in order for him to access the bruised area. Not fond of her sitting in the garage in only her pants and the tank top that was likely under the shirt, _(A tank top, right? Surely not just her bra…)_ He gulps again, part of him unsure if he is ready to see that much of her and part of him already picturing her only in a lacy bra with his hands on her soft skin… He suddenly realizes she has been talking to him and he snaps to attention. Replaying her voice in his mind, he becomes aware that she is shyly thanking him. He nods and notes she is blushing slightly. He wonders if she had a similar scene playing through her own mind. He allows himself to hope that it's true.

He suggests they move upstairs and follows her up to the loft area. He is grateful he cleaned up the space from all the equipment he had utilized the previous night, not wanting her to know how much effort he'd put into making the oil. She stands in front of the couch as he grabs the vial of lavender oil. "Is here ok?" she gestures.

"Sure," he replies and moves toward her as she carefully sits.

"Do-"

"I should-"

They both attempt to speak at the same time and laugh, alleviating some of the tension they both realize is in the room. "You first," Walter forcibly smiles as he sits next to her. He honestly had no idea what he was about to say anyway.

Paige's smile fades and she nervously fiddles with her fingers. "I um….I don't want to make you uncomfortable with what I'm about to say," she begins, her eyes on her hands. "I uh, just want to warn you before I take off my shirt…." She pauses, still looking down at her lap, but listening to make sure he isn't hyperventilating or having a stroke. He seems to remain calm.

"I-" she clears her throat. "Well, when I was getting dressed, I couldn't see to find a bra or a camisole that wasn't irritating my shoulder." She pauses again and peeks up at him. He looks like he may have stopped breathing, deducing how she was going to continue.

"So, I uh, found this shirt in the back of my closet, and since it's so baggy, I decided it would make more sense to not wear anything underneath it." She says it quickly. He still looks like he might have forgotten how to breathe. "Walter?" She uses her left hand to touch his knee. He inhales sharply. _"Well, that's progress,"_ she thinks. She is trying to be sensitive to his difficulty with touch and emotions, but she was the one who was going to be sitting half naked in front of him for goodness sake. She can't help but feel vulnerable at this moment. She continues in a small voice, "Walter, my back will be to you the whole time," she assures. "In fact, if you can help me, we can just pull the back of my shirt over my head. Then the sleeves will still cover my arms and the shirt will cover my…cover the front of me."

He swallows and nods almost imperceptibly. Her lips curve into a small smile and she slowly situates herself facing away from him. She moves her hands to opposite sides of the hem of her shirt but a new wave of pain returns and she cries out softly. Getting dressed this morning had been no small feat. Getting undressed was proving to be just as excruciating.

"Stop," Walter instructs, setting the vial on the coffee table and gently pulling her arms down so they rested in her lap again. "I'll get it."

Walter's heart rate had increased rather dramatically over the last several minutes, but his rapid pulse paled in comparison to the hurried pounding that was now occurring in his chest. He grasps the bottom of the back of her shirt and slowly moves his hands up her back. He tries to avoid contact with her skin. He attempts to not look at her naked back and focus only on the grey fabric he is now bunching in his hands as he prepares to move it over her head as instructed.

Although Walter is treating her as though she was made of glass, she has to suppress another whimper as she ducks her head through the neck of her shirt and pain radiates through her neck and shoulder. She pulls the fabric down over her breasts and the top of her abdomen. She moves her now somewhat bound left hand to pull her hair over her left shoulder, but Walter is beating her to it. He gathers her hair in his hands and places it over her shoulder. She shivers in anticipation, pain momentarily forgotten. He has yet to touch her and she is anxious to feel his hands on her skin.

Walter steadies his hands by placing them on his thighs for a moment, staring at her smooth, bare flesh. He forces his eyes to focus on the large, dark purple mark marring her shoulder, reminding himself that he is merely applying first aid to a colleague. He can't help the thought that lingers – that even this ugly, clearly painful bruise does nothing to diminish her natural beauty. He desperately wants to run his fingers over her back, already imagining how velvety her skin would feel under his fingers. He exhales slowly and watches her body shiver as she feels his breath on her naked back.

"S-sorry," he stutters, cursing himself for his selfish fantasy. He picks up the vial, removing the cap and retuning to the task at hand. He pauses, wondering if his hands would feel cold to her. Not wanting her to feel uncomfortable, he returns the vial and cap to the table and rubs his hands together, allowing the friction to warm them.

Paige giggles softly as she hears him rub his hands together. "Warming up your hands?" she teases. "Don't tell me you've done this before?"

"Y-you're the first," he bluntly assures her. He pours some oil in his hands smoothes them together. His hands hover over her shoulder as he gathers the courage to touch this beautiful creature in front of him. With the lightest of touches, he begins to coat her shoulder with the aromatic oil.

Paige tries to remain still not wanting any pain to ruin this very tender moment. She inhales deeply, allowing the sweet scent of the lavender oil to invade her senses. Walter's hands glide over the contusion. He begins gingerly rubbing the oil into her skin in small circles, taking care not to rub too hard. Paige closes her eyes and lightly leans into him. "Walter that feels so nice," she purrs.

Hearing her contentment fills Walter with pride. He concentrates at first on the center of the wound, then moves his fingers toward the outer edges where they remain for several minutes, gently massaging. He wonders. She had stated that she was experiencing pain in her neck and down her back too…would she think it too forward of him to massage those areas as well? As if reading his mind, she every so slightly tilts her neck to her left, exposing more of her neck to him. He permits his fingers to wander to her neck, kneading with a bit more pressure. Paige hummed in pleasure. "Walter, that feels really amazing. Thank you," she whispers. She wishes she could add, "Please don't stop," but settles for emitting a small contented sigh instead.

Walter lingers at her neck for several minutes and removes his hands to apply more oil, intending to move down her spine. Feeling disappointed at the loss of his touch, Paige slowly begins to straighten her posture when she hears Walter whisper. "I can continue if you like?" She is glad her back is facing him so he can't see the ridiculous grin that her lips can't help but form. "Yes, please," she murmurs, relaxing again. Realizing she might be sounding too eager, she adds, "I-if that's ok with you."

He responds by spreading the oil across her other shoulder and down her back. He spends several moments pushing his thumbs up and down either side of her spinal column, then gives more vigorous attention to her left shoulder. After all, he reasons, her dominant side is likely to be subject to day-to-day overuse in a normal setting, and now she was likely overcompensating since her right side was out of commission. He decides to explain his logic to her, fearing she was thinking he was trying to take advantage of the situation. She laughs softly again. "Makes perfect sense to me," she says simply.

After collectively 25 minutes have passed, Walter can think of no more reasons to continue his "therapy." His slippery hands regretfully replace the cap to the vial. "All finished," he declares, hoping she doesn't catch his disappointed tone.

Paige feels like jello at the moment. She had enjoyed every second of her massage from Walter _(massage from Walter!)_ and tries to muddle her way through the hazy euphoria to form an intelligible sentence. She wants nothing more than to turn around, climb on to his lap and allow her lips to express her gratitude, but he is standing, briefly walks away before returning with a towel to gently dab any excess oil from her skin. She allows herself to quickly fantasize about Walter drying her off after the two of them taking a bath together. She shivers again.

"I'm sorry, you must be cold," Walter interrupts her fantasy. "Let's get your shirt back on you." He reaches around to the front of her and gropes for the fabric Paige didn't realize she had lowered a bit more than intended as she had let her body relax into Walter's attentive hands. She suddenly feels bold. Clasping her hands and shirt back to her chest she turns to face him, so caught up in the moment, she misses the fact that the pain she'd experienced earlier this morning had nearly vanished. "It's ok," she whispers looking into his eyes. Walter can't help himself as his gaze drifts over her haphazardly covered breasts and exposed abdomen. Paige revels in his smoldering stare, loving how desirable he was making her feel right now. She leans toward him and gently places a kiss on his cheek. She moves her lips to his ear. "Thank you for everything, Walter, and believe me, I'm anything but cold right now," she whispers and lets her lips brush ever so slightly against his ear lobe.

Walter feels his cheek and ears burning and wants nothing more than to kiss her deeply. He moves his hand to place it on her side and pull her into his lap. His hand is almost to her naked waist when-

"As the resident doctor, I felt the need to –" Toby stops and stares at the two of them who have quickly backed away from each other. Paige looks around for a blanket or pillow to cover her state of somewhat undress, and the movement causes her neck to wrench all over again. She squeezes her eyes in pain and settles for pulling her knees up in front of her. She was about to be a little affronted that Walter hadn't done more to defend her modesty when she realized he was across the room, forcibly removing a slack-jawed Toby.

Walter doesn't pride himself on violence, but he honestly could have thrown Toby down the stairs for interrupting them. He settles for pushing him out the door, slamming it behind him and locking it, cursing himself for not having done so in the first place. He glances back at Paige who was smoothing her shirt back into place, and wincing all over again. Walter is immediately deflated. "I guess the oil wasn't really helpful after all," he offers, attempting to sound aloof, but feeling, _was that embarrassment? Disappointment?_ Whatever it was felt significantly worse than a failed hypothesis or science experiment gone wrong. He supposed this was an experiment of sorts, but he had so desperately wanted it to have favorable results.

Paige stands and walks next to him. "I wouldn't say that," she says softly. "Toby just startled me and my muscles tensed up again." She places her left hand on his bicep. "Maybe," her lips curve into a sly smile, "maybe we can try this again tomorrow?" She looks up at him hopefully.

Walter smiles back at her. "I'll lock the door this time."

I'd love to polish and put on some finishing touches, but I really wanted to post this before the next episode and well, the clock is ticking! Let me know what you think please!


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